


Tasteless

by twelvensfield



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon Dialogue, Dark Abigail Hobbs, Dark Will Graham, Empathy, Eventual Fluff, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack Crawford Being an Asshole, Knives, M/M, Murder, Murder Family, Not Beta Read, Presents, Psychic Abilities, Sassy Will Graham, Will Graham Knows, it's not THAT dark, psychic!Will, the presents are dead people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelvensfield/pseuds/twelvensfield
Summary: "It’s the first word Hannibal hears Will speak, and it’s intoxicating."OR: Will Graham is a psychic with a penchant for finding serial killers, and Hannibal takes a shine to him. And, obviously, Jack Crawford is kind of an asshole. Eventual Murder Family.
Relationships: Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs, Will Graham & Abigail Hobbs & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 25
Kudos: 523





	1. Chapter 1

“Tasteless.”

It’s the first word Hannibal hears Will speak, and it’s intoxicating. His eyes had been downcast, contemplative yet distant, throughout the brief introductions Jack had rushed them with. But, now, Hannibal can feel the disgust rolling off the man in waves.

“Do you have trouble with taste?”

The brief flicker of Will’s head in Hannibal’s direction is enough, somehow, for Hannibal to be drawn in further.

“My thoughts are often not tasty.” It’s an out-breath, a reluctant admission to a stranger. Rather unlike Will, from what Hannibal has gathered from Jack’s briefing and Alana’s occasional comments.

“Nor mine.” Hannibal offers Will the same vulnerability. “No effective barriers.” He knows Will will be hard to work around, keep at arms’ length when all Hannibal wants to do is pick him apart – piece by piece until he knows his brain inside and out.

“I build forts.”

“Associations come quickly.”

“So do forts.”

Forts, indeed: “Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

Another exhale. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much, you don’t see enough—” Will’s talking about his _Gift_ , Hannibal realises with a start. He reconsiders their proximity, once more, wonders if taking Jack up on his offer is at all wise, given Will’s _Gift_ – Will’s _Gift_ being his one-touch psychic readings. Analyses. _Unravellings._ Particularly strong in the presence of psychopaths and their victims. But Hannibal rarely turns down a challenge.

“An-and it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking, ‘ _oh, those whites are_ really _white,’_ or-or, _‘he might have hepatitis,’_ or, _‘oh, is that a burst vein?’”_

Hannibal revels in such things. Tries to glean as much as possible in every cursory glance: right now, Will’s eyes tell Hannibal he’s seen too much, he rarely sleeps through the night, he _doesn’t_ have hepatitis. He lets out a breathy laugh, a moment for Will’s eyes to crease in response.

“So, yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible,” He turns away, “Jack?” and that’s that, until—

“I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind.” It’s out of Hannibal’s mouth as he thinks it. To have Will’s eyes snap back to his, however brief, is galvanizing. Freeing. Hannibal instantly needs more. “Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.”

“Whose profile are you working on?” The wrinkle at the bridge of Will’s suggests Hannibal’s pushed too far, but he can’t help himself. It’s so rare he’s so uncontrolled and he’s thrilled by it. Wants to make Will feel unashamed of his dreams, his nightmares, his desires. “Whose profile is he working on?”

“I’m sorry, Will. Observing is what we do.” Psychiatrists. Killers. “I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off—”

“Please, don’t psychoanalyse me.” Quieter: “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalysed.” It should be off-putting, the clear deflections, but Hannibal is fascinated as readily as Will is obtrusive.

“Will—” It’s Jack, this time.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalysing.”

Will leaves. Takes his coat. Hannibal deflects the urge to keep his eyes on him, watch his gate, judge his movements, take in his appearance.

Jack isn’t happy with his approach. “It’s an uncomfortable _Gift_ , Jack.”

Hannibal wants him to unlock Will’s full potential, wants to unravel the webs of clues fed to him through his fingertips. Wants to expose and protect him. Please him. Consume him.

//

Jack makes Will touch the second body, same as the first. Just a glance of his fingers across a wound, a cheekbone, a wisp of hair. Enough to know that this killer isn’t the same. This bears the mark of precision, emotional detachment from the victim. Not at all like the first – it’s bizarre to him that the others don’t notice it, can’t _feel_ a difference.

Images flick across his mind, sharp and fleeting. A quick death. A copy. A reverence in the display of the body; not the body itself. A body for _Will_ to find. This new killer knows Will, wants to impress Will. It’s an almost romantic gesture, as plain to this killer as rose petals on a bed would be to every other man. But not this one.

Will wrenches his hand away from the body. His nostrils fill with blood.

In the face of Jack, Will brushes over this new admirer. Circles back to the original killer – a house, a cabin, a daughter much like the victims so far. But his mind lingers on the gesture, his courting by a cannibal. This new killer spurns on his thoughts of the first – does this new killer, this copycat, want Will to find the first, want Will to form closure over these girls, if only by spurning him onto something (someone) much more sinister. Calculating. Manipulative. Caring. Enticing. Intelligent.

“Have Dr. Lecter draw up a psychological profile. You seemed very impressed with his opinion.”

//

Hannibal is pleased. “Good morning, Will. May I come in?”

“Where’s Crawford?”

He’s less pleased at Will’s dishevelled appearance, his confusion, his obvious lack of sleep. “Deposed in court. The adventure will be yours and mine today.” Risky, but necessary. “May I come in?”

In response, he’s given eye contact. Progress already, however wary it may be.

Later: “God forbid we become friendly.” “I don’t find you that interesting.” “You will.”

Will discloses his reluctant appreciation for the copycat; a “gift-wrapped” crime scene. Hannibal’s belatedly grateful that Will didn’t touch his breakfast with bare hands. But he’s also curious as to what Will’s response would have been – thankful? Spiteful? Frightened? Relieved? Loving? – but suspects it would have been far too soon to show his cards.

“I think Uncle Jack sees you as a fragile little teacup. And I think this Shrike fellow sees you as the opposite.” _I see you as the opposite._ _Which would you rather be seen as? I think I know the answer; you make it so painfully obvious._

They laugh together, and somehow, it’s familiar. “How do you see me?” Hannibal’s smile falls.

“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.”

Another crease to Will’s eyebrow forms, but this time their eyes lock: it’s almost recognition that Hannibal sees in Will’s pupils, but not quite.

//

“They know.” A courtesy call, Hannibal suggests.

When they arrive at the Hobbs’ house, he gets out of the car after Will, patient. He wants Will to witness this. Wants to hear the gunfire ringing through his ears days – years – after it happens.

//

Hannibal is awake when will enters the hospital room, though his eyes remain closed, his fingers lax atop Abigail’s. He wants Will to see him like this, able to comfort in times of need – for he’s sure Will will have many of those yet to come.

//

Will asks Hannibal to come with him to the Hobbs’ cabin. Hannibal agrees on the condition that Jack remains outside.

“This is my investigation, Lecter.”

“Yes, and it is Will’s mind you have asked me to examine. I need to see him when he works, without distraction.”

Jack concedes.

When they enter, Will takes a cursory glance of the lower floor. It’s the upper he’s interested in.

“Abigail has become a suspect.” Hannibal’s voice is low, tense.

“What? No, Garrett Jacob Hobbs killed alone, they can’t bring Abigail into this.” Will scales the stairs, but Hannibal watches the tight stretch of his shoulders.

“Jack didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you should hear it.” They’d been with Abigail a great deal since the attack, in and out with cold coffee. Will had, this past week, awoken to Hannibal’s coat draped over his dozing frame more times than he could count.

“He’s _far_ too unstable for that kind of news, Dr. Lecter, so instead let’s give him free reign of a cannibal’s killing shed!” Will uses his best _Jack_ voice, and Hannibal bares him the hint of a smile.

Will turns away from him and takes off a glove, runs his fingers over the floor, the antlers, the walls. He’s silent for a while and Hannibal draws closer to him. He doesn’t make the mistake to say anything, just braces Will’s back and lowers him to the floor when his eyes roll back into his skull.

Hannibal had done his research before meeting Will, of course, and knew all about both the physical and emotional trauma caused by premonitions, visions, psychic readings and everything else that comes along with the _Gift_ given to Will and others like him. Seizures, fits, bone breakages, hallucinations just to name a few.

But Will was fine, Hannibal knew, from the jump of his pulse visible from where Hannibal was sat, craned upwards with a careful arm around Will’s waist.

“That bitch.” It’s a whisper as Will wriggles himself awake, slams a fist against the wood and shoves forward against Hannibal’s body.

“What’s wrong, Will?”

But Will’s already shoving the glove back on his hand, pushing past Hannibal down the stairs. “Freddie Lounds contaminated this entire fucking scene, that’s what’s wrong.” He’s huffing, angry, and Hannibal has never seen anything so beautiful.

Later, when Hannibal has a hand braced on Will’s shoulder small torch flitting between his fingers, checking Will’s dilation, Will meets his eyes. And holds them.

//

It’s a month before Hannibal acts on his latest urge. Abigail is awake and settled in Port Haven, however tenuously. Will visits her. So does Hannibal; sometimes, they go together. More and more frequently, Hannibal knocks on Will’s door at 8am on Saturdays and they drive to see her. Sometimes – and these are very tense, very restrained times for Hannibal – they see Freddie there. Talking, coercing, preying on Abigail’s mind with promises they both know she can’t keep.

Hannibal’s only comfort is Will’s similarly defensive attitude in the wake of Freddie-and-Abigail encounters. And his plan to brutally murder her, at some point or another.

That point arrives exactly four weeks and four days after he and Will set foot in the Hobbs’ cabin. With a knock on Hannibal’s door.

“I want Abigail to sign my book deal and I know you can make it happen.”

“What makes you think I want to make it happen?”

Freddie pushes past him, walks through the hall into the kitchen. It’s too inviting to resist.

“Closure. You can see that her infamous father, her small hometown, and her unwilling involvement in such activities is taking a toll on her health. Surely you can, doctor. But I can make that all go away.” A curl of her red hair snags on a button on her jacket – she pulls it aside, baring her throat.

“She has all the closure she needs. She knows the truth of her father, what she and he have done, and what Will and I are doing for her now. It is only you, Miss Lounds, that poses a problem to all of this.”

An arched brow. “Is that so?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

It’s worth the risk.


	2. Chapter 2

Will can’t help the thrill that runs down his spine at the news. Shock, relief, surprise, but not quite remorse flicker behind his eyes.

He almost can’t believe it until he’s face to face with her, staring into her lifeless eyes and the blood-red stitches neatly keeping her lips sealed. No one else seems to have picked up on it, but this is the copycat’s design. She’d been displayed for Will, another of his troubles neatly tied up with a crimson bow.

Her hair was fanned neatly around her, eyelids open to the sky as she lay, cold, on a bed of withered rose petals. The copycat had taken her lungs, hollowed out her insides and left her chest open, heart standing stark in the emptiness.

But who _was_ this killer? Who’d taken such an interest in Will? The removal of organs suggested the Ripper, but why would the Ripper do something so emotionally evocative? How did he even know about Freddie Lounds?

Will had to find out.

The first brush of his knuckle against her hair is agonising. He feels her pain, her anguish, her defeat. The screams were torn from her dying body, surprised at the killer’s outburst in a way that angered and scared her, deep to her core. But then, then all Will could see was light. Bright, unforgiving, loving – somehow – amidst this whirlwind of death. Will could swear his feet leave the ground for a moment, caught up in the warmth he felt from this killer. He tries to focus on the face of this man, lost behind the eyes of a dead mind, but all he feels is the beat of his heart as it tries to free itself from his chest.

And then there’s a hand on his shoulder, warm even through the layers, bringing him back to the moment. To the rush of paramedics at his side. To the field, Jack, Hannibal staring almost pleadingly into his eyes. “Will, are you in any pain?” As if Will’s pain is pain for Hannibal, too.

“No, how long was I out?” He scrubs a hand over his face and sags forward into Hannibal’s grasp.

The doctor checks him over, stethoscope suddenly to hand. Will breathes deep and attempts to gather up the scattered shards of his mind.

“A short while. Jack called me.”

Will notices the shadows cast long against the field. “What? Why did he call you?” Will also notices Jack’s hushed whispers to the paramedics behind Hannibal’s calculating face.

“You were floating, Will.”

“Huh.”

“Indeed.”

“I thought I hallucinated that.”

“And do you hallucinate often, dear Will?”

The term of endearment rises high with a blush to Will’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, Hannibal, I didn’t realise your office had moved to the open air.”

“I’m simply concerned for your health.”

Will shrugs off Hannibal’s hand and stands, steadying himself on the air. “It seems a lot of people are, what makes you so special?” He stalks back to his car, feels the eyes of everyone around him following his path.

//

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Jack.” Will’s almost shouting, pacing the length of his living room.

Will had known the reason for Jack not-so-subtly dropping by as soon as the larger man had knocked on the door.

“I did _not_ kill Freddie Lounds!” Will had texted Hannibal before he opened the door to Jack and his accusations. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but Jack’s presence was riling him up more and more by the minute, tightening the anger within him. He needed a distraction.

“Well what else am I supposed to think, Will? Because _I know_ the two of you were not on the best of terms. _I know_ you have the means, goddammit you were hovering above her corpse like a mad man! And in terms of an alibi, you haven’t provided me with one yet, Will, so where the hell were you if you didn’t do it?”

A beat.

“He was with me.” Will heard the breath rush from his lungs, felt Hannibal’s presence behind him. “I cooked him dinner, here. I stayed the night.” Will sucks back in the breath as Hannibal’s arm slithers around his waist. Protective. Warm.

Jack looks taken aback, momentarily. “What did you eat?” His eyes flick between the two.

“Rabbit.” This time it’s Will that speaks up, leans into Hannibal’s hold. “It was delicious.”

“Any time, sweet Will.” They turn to lock eyes. Will doesn’t have to pretend to be captivated. “I’m sure you’ve harassed Will enough for one day, Agent Crawford.”

There’s a thinly veiled threat in Hannibal’s tone, and it’s intoxicating. Will lets himself fall into the warmth of his hold, the possessive lilt of Hannibal’s voice for a few moments longer.

Long enough for Jack to leave, muttering his strained goodbyes.

“I don’t need your help, Hannibal.” Once again, he shrugs off Hannibal’s hold on him.

“I didn’t suggest otherwise.”

Will takes another second to gather himself, to pace. “How do you know I didn’t do it? Like Jack said, I don’t have an alibi.”

“Neither do I.”

It’s upon this suggestion that Will lets their eyes meet again. What he sees there chills him, excites him, amazes him. Behind Hannibal’s calm demeanour, Will sees something dark. Even further than that, he sees a light.

He steps forward. “You were a surgeon.” It’s not a suggestion, not a conviction – just a statement.

“Yes.”

Another step, closer to the depths of those crimson eyes. “You hated Freddie Lounds.”

“Yes.” Hannibal doesn’t even attempt to hide the disgust Will can so clearly see echoing around his features.

“She came to you that night. About Abigail.”

“Yes.”

Will’s hand comes up to Hannibal’s face, hovering just in front of his cheek.

“Let me see.” It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

He brushes a palm against the plains of Hannibal’s smooth jaw, moves closer so that the fronts of their bodies are a hair’s breadth away.

Will sees a darkness, unlike anything he’s seen outside the walls of his own mind. He sees years of blood, of bodies, of flesh. He sees the grief, the loss, the anger at the world. He sees a fragile boy, alone in the woods, running and hunting and surviving.

Then he sees himself, feels that warmth again. And, _oh_ , how warm it is. How freeing. How odd, to see the light under the thick skin of such a monster. Will revels in it. Feels the trickle of a tear make its way down his face.

When he comes to, its to Hannibal’s nose pressed lightly against his. They’re still standing, by some miracle, and Will’s hands are clutched around the sides of Hannibal’s face. Keeping him right there.

“It’s you.”

“It’s me.” His voice is hoarse. Are the tears staining his cheeks Will’s?

“I’m so glad it’s you.” Will thought he might be angry, at this moment. But all he feels is Hannibal’s body against his own. He sees the monster, the man, in front of him. And he laughs with the absurdity of it all.

Hannibal pulls him that little bit closer, so their mouths brush so slightly it pains them both. The first lick of teeth at Will’s lower lip has him, both of them, groaning. Their mouths fit so well together, the push and pull and slide of their bodies only increasing in their fervour. Will’s back crashes into the wall behind him. His hands clutch at Hannibal’s back, fingernails digging into his jacket, ripping it off him and then the shirt underneath it, too.

Will’s leg comes up to Hannibal’s waist, crushing them together with a heat that makes his head spin. Hannibal trails bruises into Will’s skin, marking him as Will does with the dig of nails into Hannibal’s sides. Will’s jumper gets pulled off along the way, and his shirt, and his undershirt, and some nips of skin against Hannibal’s unwavering mouth.

The pause of Hannibal’s fingers at Will’s belt is a question, Will knows. He pulls Hannibal’s face up to his, eyes meeting. He winds a hands behind Hannibal’s neck and bites at Hannibal’s lip, drawing blood and a groan from Hannibal, his hands twitching against Will. Will’s tongue laves at the wound, a growl erupting in him.

“Delicious.”

And Will watches as Hannibal’s eyes widen, his lips parting in one of the few _true_ smiles Hannibal’s ever given him. He drops to his knees, palming at Will until his jeans are on the floor, his boxers soon to follow.

//

It’s much later, with legs entangled and foreheads brushing, that Hannibal replies. “As are you, dear Will.”

//

“Where’d you put my fishing stuff, you ass?”

“He can’t hear you, Will, he’s in the basement.” Abigail’s voice pops up next to him from behind a wall of cardboard boxes.

“How did you know I wasn’t talking to you?” Will’s eyebrow quirks as Abigail jabs him in the side with the butt-end of one of the hunting knives sprawled at her feet.

“ _Because_ , Hannibal’s the only one who even attempts to take any of your shit.”

“Language.” It’s a reprimand given through a smile playing at the edge of Hannibal’s lips. He’s wiping a careful hand on his trousers, making his way up from the lower floor of their new house.

“Sorry.” Abigail rolls her eyes, gathers up her box of stuff and wonders up the stairs. “I’m getting the master room! You snooze you lose.”

Will chuckles, moving closer to Hannibal to smooth the crease of his forehead. “Let her have it,” he soothes, “I’m sure we can squeeze into a smaller room,” Will’s hand wonders to Hannibal’s ass, lays claim to his flesh with the bite of his nails, “we’ll just have to get a little closer”.

It’s Hannibal, this time, who closes the distance. “I’m sure we can find a way to make it work.”

“I’m not allowed to curse, but you guys can fondle each other in the hallway? This is bullshit!” Abigail waves a hand towards them and dodges Hannibal’s attempts to refute. “Nope. Nope. No excuses.”

“I’ll make you burgers if you go back to your room.” Hannibal peeks above Will’s mop of hair to level with Abigail.

“When?”

“We’ll go hunting tomorrow.”

Will huffs out a laugh at them, moving impossibly closer still to Hannibal.

“Can I use the butterfly knife? I’ve been watching tutorials on these cool flips you can do with them—”

Hannibal cuts her off with a sharp laugh. “Of course.”

Abigail flits her eyes to the movement of Hannibal’s hands, then turns and skitters away up the stairs. “Ew, ew, ew, you guys so owe me!”

Will sighs into Hannibal’s chest. “Teenagers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for such a great response to the first part!!! I wanted to make Hannibal noticeably softer than he is in canon because I can, and this is my first time writing Hannigram so it was weird adjusting to two such dark characters. Anyway, thanks again! I probably won't add to this fic but I might write for the fandom again soon-ish :))

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 up soon!! But in the mean time, drop me a comment and tell me what you think ;)


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